Page 22 of This Means War

Cole helps Jamie load up my boxes in his truck while I wheel my suitcase over to my tiny sedan. Looking at the two cars I wonder if we’ll have to trade one of them in for something a bit more family friendly. Somehow, I can’t see myself driving a minivan, and I definitely can’t see Cole driving one. The image does bring a smile to my face, though. It would serve him right if I got a nice cherry red minivan and plastered it with one of those stick figure families. And maybe a bumper sticker for his opponent too.

“What are you smiling about?” Jamie asks me, swiping flyaways out of her eyes.

“Oh nothing,” I lie, because I can’t very well tell her the truth: that I married a man who I am also at war with.

“Is that everything?” Cole asks. His gaze takes in the sorry group of boxes. Though they wouldn’t have all fit in my car, they barely take up half of his truck bed.

“Yup,” I nod, “at least for now. I’m having my collection of antique porcelain dolls delivered later this week. I thought we could set them out in the living room.”

“Funny,” he says without laughing. Jamie laughs, though. Gosh I’m going to miss her. She always laughs at my jokes, even when they’re not funny. “Alright then, let’s hit the road.” He hits the side of his truck in that cool way men in cowboy hats do. He’s not actually wearing a cowboy hat, but maybe I’ll get him one. He would look good in a cowboy hat. I may not like Cole, but I can still appreciate the eye candy appeal of a man in a cowboy hat. And also probably get away with blaming my appreciation on pregnancy hormones.

I head over to my car, and Jamie does the same.

“She’s coming?” Cole asks.

“Of course,” Jamie retorts before I can reply, “I need to make sure you actually take her to a house and don’t try and abduct her or abandon her in a cornfield like that one guy.”

“Jamie!” I exclaim just as Cole says, “Are you for real?” He pauses, then adds, “Someone abandoned you in a cornfield?”

“It was a mistake,” I say quickly as my face heats. “A wrong address given to an Uber driver, that’s all.”

Cole’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else about it, just looks at Jamie and says, “Fine, whatever. Come see my house. I’m not sure how I would abduct someone driving their own car, but suit yourself.”

I shoot Jamie a death stare, but she ignores me and gets in her car. The three of us drive in a line out of my apartment parking lot and towards my new home.

Chapter 18

Cole

I’M FEELING WEIRDLY excited as I lead our caravan across the highway towards my house. Sure, I want to see her reaction to the frogs, but there’s also a part of me that is looking forward to having someone else live with me. When I decided I was ready to run for mayor, I also decided it was probably time to move out of the apartment I shared with a buddy of mine and into a house of my own. Mayors don’t usually have roommates. Still, I’ve lived in my house for almost a year now, and I’d be the first to admit it can be lonely living by myself.

I think that’s probably why I proposed to Ashley. Not that I didn’t love her, or at least I thought I loved her. Maybe not in a you’re-the-one-my-heart-loves sort of way, but close enough. When she said no to my proposal and we broke up, I remember being surprised that I wasn’t more upset. Disappointed, maybe. Embarrassed, definitely. Depressed and desperate to win her back, not so much. I just sort of moved on. Of course, that may have had somethingto do with her response to my proposal. The very thought of the things she said to me that day puts a sour taste in my mouth.

As we exit the highway, I consider leading them in the direction of the many acres of farmland in Holland just to mess with them, but we really are pressed for time so I head straight to my house figuring the frogs will be enough for one day. Hoppy moving day indeed.

We pull up to my house, a four-bedroom ranch that, in my opinion, is a far cry from a villain’s fortress. Though I suppose the laundry chute in the master bedroom could sort of count as a secret passageway. I’m anxious to see Lydia’s reaction, but when I exit my car and turn to see her, she’s already out of her car–which is parked crookedly in my driveway–and dashing towards me.

“Bathroom,” she cries, hand over her mouth. My instincts take over, and I yank the door open and lead her towards the half bath just off the mud room. Once there she screams at me to go away, and I hear the sound of retching as I hurriedly close the door.

Guilt starts to niggle at me. I did this to her. Well, not directly, but I got her pregnant, and she wouldn’t be in there vomiting if she wasn’t pregnant. Maybe I should take down the frogs. Before I’ve followed through on this whim, though, Jamie walks through the garage door shaking her head at me.

“Look what you did,” she tuts, pointing to the door. Clearly, she shares the opinion that I am culpable for Lydia’s current state of illness. “Tellme you at least have orange juice,” she adds. “You do know that’s been helping with her morning sickness, right? So you should always have some stocked.”

I bristle at her know-it-all tone. “Of course I have orange juice. I’m aware of what helps my wife’s morning sickness.” The possessiveness of my words surprises me, but it’s probably just a knee-jerk reaction to how prissy she’s being to me. Like I’m just some jerk who got her best friend pregnant. Which, fine, may be true enough, but still, at least I married her.

Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up at my words, and she peers closely at me as if trying to figure me out.

“Let’s just go get the juice,” I say quickly, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. I lead the way to the kitchen and busy myself taking out the juice and pouring it into a tall glass. When I turn back around Jamie’s head is in my cupboards.

“Can I get you something to eat?” I ask pointedly.

“You have peanut butter in here,” she accuses, pulling out a jar of the stuff.

“Yeah, so?”

“Yeah, so?” she echoes in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Cole. I never kept this stuff in the house when Lydia lived with me! Didn’t even dare eat anything with nuts in it unless I wasn’t with her. And even then, I brushed my teeth before seeing her again.”

“What, just in case you got the urge to kiss her?” I quip, annoyed with her pushiness. I’m aware ofLydia’s nut allergy, I did spend seventy percent of my childhood at her house, for goodness sake. And because I spent seventy percent of my childhood at her house, I also know the rest of her family ate peanut butter on a regular basis.

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